


PARADISE LOST

by potashiamu



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Candaulism, Character Study, Classical References, Complete, Consensual Sex, Existential Horror, Halloween, Humiliation, Kinbaku, Kinktober, Literature, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Yotsuba Arc (Death Note), gothic horror, lawlight, sex as domination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26806930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potashiamu/pseuds/potashiamu
Summary: In the days between Higuchi’s apprehension and L’s death, Light baits L into playing one last game. When Kira uses a criminal to send a message, L comes to Light’s room late at night, and the game begins just as planned. But how does the outcome change, depending on the message Kira sends? Part of the Darker Oneshots Halloween Challenge 2020.
Relationships: L & Yagami Light, L/Yagami Light
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38
Collections: Darker Oneshots 2020





	1. ANGEL

**Author's Note:**

> This is a oneshot in two, parallel parts, written for the Darker Oneshots Halloween Challenge 2020, the other participants of which can be found at the end. The two parts of this fic are not meant to stand alone, they are more like distorted mirrors of each other, and are divided into “chapters” just for aesthetic/formatting purposes. Either part can be read first as they are not sequential. I just wanted to explore two different types of intimacy, and degrees of the interplay between Light and Kira. “Angel” is meant to feel almost like an extra episode of the manga/show, whereas “Demon” is just quintessential kinktober fanfiction lol.
> 
> Lastly, while the sex is consensual, it is not intended to be a depiction of a healthy BDSM relationship. Healthy BDSM activity should always be based on mutual negotiation, which involves rules, and an actual safe word should be agreed upon. Healthy BDSM is also about mutual pleasure, not one person seeking to control another.

**ANGEL**

* * *

FREELY THEY STOOD WHO STOOD, FELL WHO FELL.

Light spent an appropriate amount of time looking at the photo. A performance. As if he hadn’t been the one to tell Misa exactly what to have the prisoner write on the wall before dying. When he had acted long enough, he sat back on his couch.

“Ryuuzaki, my thoughts are the same as this afternoon. I think Kira is merely making a statement reinforcing the fact that, at this point, people are aware of the consequences, and though they are still free to commit crime, it is with the understanding that they will be facing inevitable punishment.”

“Perhaps you are right…” L hovered over the coffee table, pinching the sofa fabric between his bare toes and staring at the photo on the tabletop. A message, written in blood on a jail cell wall, discovered along with the dead body of a man waiting for trial. Murder: an old woman, living alone, killed and robbed. Decent amount of circumstantial evidence, but no stone-cold forensics. Though L was no enthusiast of legal proceedings or the court system, these Kira killings of people who had yet to be formally convicted seemed to especially bother the detective.

Of course, all of this was on purpose. Referencing material like Milton’s _Paradise Lost_ , an English-language classic none of the other task-force members would have ever read, let alone been able to understand. The written message, feeling out of the blue after the months and months since Kira had first taunted L about Shinigami and apples. The heart attack death of an accused man still waiting for his formal day of justice. Just as Light had predicted, L had come to his room in the late hours of the night, compelled to discuss it further, one on one.

“You don’t seem satisfied.” Light arched an eyebrow, regarding his companion. L was still fixated on the picture, but in a way that felt like he was doing it just to avoid eye contact.

 _He’s still being strange,_ Light thought to himself. _It’ll be a shame if this last game isn’t as fun as I planned it to be._

For the few days that had elapsed since Higuchi’s death, especially once the handcuffs had been removed and Light had been permitted to move into his own room, L had been distant. With the final mechanism due to fall into place any day now, it was boring to have L spend his last days on earth sulking, seemingly avoiding Light.

“Hm,” L brought his thumb to his mouth, thinking. “It is not about my satisfaction, but I suppose you are correct. I am not satisfied.”

“Oh?” Light spread his arms across the back of the loveseat, intentionally injecting himself into L’s physical space.

At last, the older man abandoned the pretext of examining the photo, black eyes sliding up to look at Light.

“I expected more analysis from you, Light. I checked your university curriculum, and I know you studied _Paradise Lost_ in your Western Religious Literature class.”

Light made a point of sighing as if he were long-suffering, totally exasperated. “Don’t tell me you’re going to insist that because I’ve read the same book Kira is quoting that it somehow counts as more evidence against me.”

“No,” L said immediately. “Innumerable people have read it, and even if they have not, anyone with an internet connection is capable of pulling salient quotes from a web search…”

“But you don’t really believe Kira’s done that,” Light chuckled. “You’re dissatisfied because you think that the selection of such a text is a message in and of itself. The context is too important for Kira to have just cherry-picked one snappy sentence.”

Something tense, sitting behind Light’s breastbone—an obscure, weighty feeling—untangled a little at the sight of L’s lips quirking in a small smile. Light smiled back.

“Light is correct, again.”

“Heh. Alright, I’m happy to talk context with you. But I imagine it will make for a long night, not that I mind. Do you want some tea first?”

Rising before L could answer, Light walked over to the kitchenette and flicked the switch on the electric kettle. For a time, the only sound in the room was the culminating noise of water coming to a boil. As Light prepared the cup the way he knew L liked it (English black tea, steeped too long and with so many sugar cubes it left syrup at the bottom) he spoke over his shoulder.

“I have to say, it’s been weird having my own space again. I guess it shows you can get used to anything, even being handcuffed and sharing living quarters 24/7 with someone like you.”

L perked a little, full attention piqued. Light only teased him when the younger man was in an exceptionally good mood.

“I rather enjoyed it,” L said honestly as he watched his friend set the teacup on the coffee table. When Light sat back down on the sofa, it was in an attitude of deep recline, turned inward towards L, watching him. “The transition seems to have put me out of sorts these past few days.”

 _Obviously,_ Light mused. _As if I didn’t already see that plainly for myself_. He had always found L’s cognitive dissonance to be an entertaining weakness. It was abundantly stupid for L to be so unguarded with his affection for the man he was also convinced of being the worst serial killer in human history.

“So,” Light’s voice was a purr. “Context?”

L picked up the teacup before adjusting on the couch to face Light. Earlier, he had found it hard to meet his companion’s eyes, but now he was peering into them eagerly, as if the answer as to what Light was finding so pleasurable could be found there.

There was something mutable in Light’s amber gaze, shifting the way shadows do as the night deepens. The detective caught himself thinking, for the countless time since they’d found Higuchi and the Death Note, about the intangible, frigid transformation of Light’s beauty. The symmetrical features were no different. Light was as handsome as ever. But in the months they had lived together, L had appreciated the openness in Light’s face, something bordering on innocence… a shine that had since darkened. Perhaps it was why he’d been avoiding Light these past couple days.

“Ryuuzaki?” Light grinned, prompting.

Yes, still beautiful. But in the way a well-crafted knife is beautiful. Hard, cutting, without comfort.

“Well, as you know, _Paradise Lost_ is about the Fall of Man from Eden, and Lucifer’s rebellion against God.” L sipped the tea. It was perfectly to his taste. “And so, I cannot help but wonder where Kira sees themselves in the poem. Do you think they identify with God, or with Lucifer?”

Light laughed a derisive, empty laugh. “Don’t be silly. They see themselves as God. Actually, it’s hardly even a matter of how they see themselves. It’s objective. With the Death Note, Kira attained apotheosis, they _have_ the powers of a god, along with the motivations of one. The aspiration _and_ ability to create a new world is nothing, if not godlike.”

“Maybe so,” L deflected. “Perhaps it is more a matter of how they are seen by others.”

Light crooked his elbow, propping his head on his fist. He was smirking smugly, his little game underway, and with L off-balance. “Do you really mean it’s a matter of how _you_ see Kira?”

L decided not to meet Light’s jab head-on. “Is Kira not more like Lucifer? He used to be the most beloved, the most perfect of the angels. His potential was nearly limitless, subject only to the rule of God. And it was in miscalculating that he was superior that he fell from grace, cast out of Paradise and doomed to rule over Hell.”

The teacup made a soft clink as L set it back down on the tabletop. L placed his hands on his kneecaps, drawing his legs close to his body, knowing Light was waiting for him to say what he really meant.

“Whoever Kira is,” L spoke lowly, communicating for Light only; a personal, heartfelt message. “It is clear they are an individual of great promise and capability, perhaps even noble intentions, not that it matters. But whether they found the Death Note by accident or looked for it actively, they are now doomed. Cursed.”

 _What an idiot. The Death Note is a gift, a divine tool brought to its full potential only by me._ Sometimes, Light found it hilarious how myopic L could be.

“That really is you talking, Ryuuzaki. Even the criminals Kira punishes view them as a god. Perhaps a vengeful, cruel god, but certainly not something as conceptual and uselessly romantic as a fallen angel.”

Tension tightened L’s fingertips where they strained against the faded fabric of his jeans. If only Light would hear what he was really saying. Nearly certain Light was Kira, L had no choice but to treat the quote as an intentional message dedicated only to him. What was Light truly trying to tell him, via crimson letters on a prison wall? L was speaking with his friend now in accordance with this dual undercurrent of meaning, but Light was seemingly still insisting on pretending as if none of this was personal.

 _Why did you lure me to your room?_ L wondered. _I’ve willingly taken your bait, but now I cannot see how you intend to reel me in. You would never go through such trouble just so you can find a fancy way to tell me you think you are a god._

“Then perhaps Kira misunderstood _Paradise Lost_ ,” L said, noticing an instantaneous, prideful flicker sparking in Light’s eyes. “The point of the poem is to illustrate the morality of Lucifer’s fall. The fact that Lucifer has the ability to rebel, analogous to the ability of humans to choose between ‘right’ and ‘wrong,’ is the evidence that God is not a tyrant.”

L watched avidly as Light’s tongue emerged to wet his lips. A deliberate, slow action that felt like an attempt at restraint. L intuited that he might be interfering with the secret game Light had invited him to play. Things had gotten exciting.

“Kira is not offering any true choice,” L continued. “Even I would be hard-pressed to argue against their punishment of certain criminals whose crimes are indeed atrocious and unforgivable. I am not opposed to the death penalty. But the distinction is terror. Kira has murdered anyone they deem in opposition to their values. Kira is fragile and cannot tolerate rebellion, and though they are beginning to derive results, the results are predicated on terror alone. Morality that one is not free to choose, that one does not understand the reasons behind, is not morality at all, and it’s laughable to call it righteous justice. Kira might indeed be a person of incredible potential, but they behave like a child with an ant farm and a magnifying glass.

“That is why I wonder if Kira understood the true meaning of the quote, that humanity is authentically free to choose if they stand or fall, if they obey or disobey. That the God of the poem allowed humanity to be free.”

L leaned forward, bracing himself with a hand against Light’s leg where it lay on the couch. He could sense that Light wanted to recoil, but the younger man defiantly held his ground, returning the stare.

“And that is why Kira is cursed. Doomed to chase the illusion of a Paradise for the kind and righteous, when all they can ever be is a tyrant ruler of a freedomless, fearful Hell. Nothing more than a terrorist.”

There was an abyssal silence as the two men stared at each other, squaring off, simultaneously relishing and despising the apex of their game.

Surprising himself, L was the first to retreat, less out of a sense of satisfaction of having won, and more out of an emotionally rooted exhaustion. In the moment he spent receding into a crouch and watching the chaos of micro-expressions flit across Light’s face, something crystallized for him.

He was mourning Light. It defied all logic, but L was leaning toward the probability that, somehow, the Light he had lived with and been handcuffed to, had not been Kira while still being Kira. Some sort of amnesia, sincere, real; not an act. Light wasn’t half so good an actor as he thought he was, at least not in L’s eyes.

Impossibly, and linked to regaining the Death Note from Higuchi, Light’s amnesia had shattered, taking with it the special man that L had come to cherish deeply. A second fall from grace that L felt immense guilt and frustration for not having figured out how to prevent.

A failure he suspected meant his own imminent death. It was almost as if he could hear the tolling of a death knell; hollow bells ringing finality. Especially ironic, today of all days.

Light laughed. More of a gentle exhalation, perhaps even a regretful sound. A reaction L had not predicted.

“Ryuuzaki.” Either Light had successfully wrangled his inflamed pride, or L had not shaken it as much as he’d assumed, because the younger man’s voice was smooth honey, devoid of resentment. “An interesting discourse, as always.”

L thought for a moment before deciding how to answer, retreating further into himself and growing smaller as he did so. “‘With thee conversing I forget all time, all seasons and their change, all please alike.’”

The quote from another section of the poem was not lost on his friend.

“I enjoy talking with you, too,” Light replied with sudden, deep sincerity. “But that makes me wonder, then, why do you look so sad?”

Perhaps L was not as good an actor as he fancied himself either, because now Light was laughing again at the shocked expression so easily readable on the detective’s pale face.

L deliberated for a moment, discarding the impulse to strip away all their doublespeak and evasion and honestly confess to Light the reason for his sadness. Instead, he opted to divulge a secret, though it served as yet another coded message.

“Today is my birthday,” he told his friend.

Light seemed genuinely surprised, even disappointed.

“What?” Light flicked his wrist, checking his watch. “You wait until almost midnight to tell me that? Your birthday is nearly over. And oh, of course. I didn’t even realize today was Hallowe’en, but I’m not surprised someone like you would be born on the 31st.”

“What is that supposed to mean,” L pouted a little, though he was gratified by the fact that, for whatever reason, his birthday seemed to truly mean something to Light. He could discern no duplicity in the younger man.

Light laughed again, relaxing into the couch and looking at L with surprising warmth. “You can’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. An unusual man born on the strangest day of the year. Get it now?”

The darkness in Light’s eyes seemed to lessen, though L knew it was only temporary. The way Light had said ‘unusual’ sounded like an affectionate compliment. L’s conflict deepened, hurting.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get you a present,” Light continued ruefully. “Do you have a birthday wish?”

 _I wish for this birthday to not be my last_ , L thought.

Unable to confront the proverbial elephant in the room so boldly and pointlessly, L settled for a different wish; a bit of a powerplay to mess with Light’s head, but also something L merely wanted. Literally chained together, sharing a bed and even getting accustomed to bathing together, a default physical intimacy had grown between the two men. Something else that had ended abruptly with Higuchi’s apprehension.

“I wish for a hug from Light,” L said mischievously.

Light snorted, but beyond that, he seemed unruffled.

“Okay, sure,” he acquiesced breezily, holding out a beckoning arm.

The older man animated, moving obediently to configure himself between Light’s legs, embracing his friend. At first, Light seemed hesitant to take it seriously, draping one casual arm across L’s back and giving a few patronizing pats.

When L felt Light reconsider and readjust to hold him in earnest with both arms, it precipitated a terrible feeling in the older man, a sucking quicksand of torpid emotions, awoken all at once and collapsing in a sort of sinkhole. Grief, loneliness, regret, indignant anger, helplessness, determination, love, hate.

“I’ll order you a belated birthday cake tomorrow.” L could feel the low resonance of Light’s voice across his chest. Immersion in the younger man’s smell, an evocative mix of pleasant, artificial clean and the warm, cozy sandalwood scent of his body, brought forth a surging torrent of memory.

It made L wish he hadn’t so easily agreed to Light’s independence, but he sometimes did such things when he was sulking. He missed his friend intensely, and although there was nothing that could redeem the emotional gulf between them, torn wide open by Kira’s return, perhaps continued physical proximity could have compensated a little.

Suddenly fed up with such useless, disserving preoccupations, L broke the embrace, rising to leave.

“Thank you, Light. Good night.”

As the door closed behind L, Light found the expected sense of satisfaction and victory elusive. He had not really wanted L to leave yet, especially so abruptly, but there was no good reason why. At least their last game had been a fun one, but his delight with L’s vulnerability— _what on earth was he playing at, asking for a hug_ —felt shallower than he had anticipated.

He wondered where Rem was, certainly the late hour wouldn’t matter to a god of death. He felt like passing the time talking with her, every seemingly inane conversation with the foolish Shinigami a secret assurance that she would fulfill her role according to Light’s private scheming. At the very least, it would rekindle his excitement at L’s impending death; he told himself that the heavy sense of going unfulfilled was simply due to his excitement having cooled.


	2. DEMON

**DEMON**

* * *

CAN WE BECOME OTHER THAN WHAT WE ARE?

Light spent an appropriate amount of time looking at the photo. A performance. As if he hadn’t been the one to tell Misa exactly what to have the prisoner write on the wall before dying. When he had acted long enough, he sat back on his couch.

“Ryuuzaki, my thoughts are the same as this afternoon. I think Kira is challenging the world, the human race, to reach its loftiest state; to finally reject its base nature and live in peace without requiring the deterrent of Kira’s justice. I think Kira truly wants the species to change, fundamentally.”

“Perhaps you are right…” L hovered over the coffee table, pinching the sofa fabric between his bare toes and staring at the photo on the tabletop. A message, written in blood on a jail cell wall, discovered along with the dead body of a man waiting for trial. Murder: an old woman, living alone, killed and robbed. Decent amount of circumstantial evidence, but no stone-cold forensics. Though L was no enthusiast of legal proceedings or the court system, these Kira killings of people who had yet to be formally convicted seemed to especially bother the detective.

Of course, all of this was on purpose. Referencing a quote from someone like the Marquis de Sade, the classical French author credited with defining sadism, who none of the other task-force members would have ever read, let alone been able to understand. The written message, feeling out of the blue after the months and months since Kira had first taunted L about Shinigami and apples. The heart attack death of an accused man still waiting for his formal day of justice. Just as Light had predicted, L had come to his room in the late hours of the night, compelled to discuss it further, one on one.

“You don’t seem satisfied.” Light arched an eyebrow, regarding his companion. L was still fixated on the picture, but in a way that felt like he was doing it just to avoid eye contact.

 _He’s still being strange_ , Light thought to himself. _It’ll be a shame if this last game isn’t as fun as I planned it to be_.

For the few days that had elapsed since Higuchi’s death, especially once the handcuffs had been removed and Light had been permitted to move into his own room, L had been distant. With the final mechanism due to fall into place any day now, it was boring to have L spend his last days on earth sulking, seemingly avoiding Light.

“Hm,” L brought his thumb to his mouth, thinking. “It is not about my satisfaction, but I suppose you are correct. I am not satisfied.”

“Oh?” Light spread his arms across the back of the loveseat, intentionally injecting himself into L’s physical space.

At last, the older man abandoned the pretext of examining the photo, black eyes sliding up to look at Light.

“I expected more analysis from you, Light. I checked your university curriculum, and I know you read the Marquis’s work in your Gothic Literature class.”

Light made a point of sighing as if he were long-suffering, totally exasperated. “Don’t tell me you’re going to insist that because I’ve read the same author that Kira is quoting that it somehow counts as more evidence against me.”

“No,” L said immediately. “Innumerable people have read the Marquis, and even if they have not, anyone with an internet connection is capable of pulling salient quotes from a web search…”

“But you don’t really believe Kira’s done that,” Light chuckled. “You’re dissatisfied because you think that the selection of such an author is a message in and of itself. The context is too important for Kira to have just cherry-picked one snappy sentence.”

Something tense, sitting behind Light’s breastbone—an anticipatory craving—unfurled at the sight of L’s lips quirking in a small smile. Light smiled back.

“Light is correct, again.”

“Heh. Alright, I’m happy to talk context with you. But I imagine it will make for a long night, not that I mind. Do you want some tea first?”

Rising before L could answer, Light walked over to the kitchenette, turning off the room lights on his way. A lone lamp standing near where L sat on the couch was the only illumination, other than the scant brightness from the cityscape; a smotheringly dense and complicated labyrinth that consumed the view from the floor to ceiling windows.

Light flicked the switch on the electric kettle. For a time, the only sound in the room was the culminating noise of water coming to a boil. As Light prepared the cup the way he knew L liked it (English black tea, steeped too long and with so many sugar cubes it left syrup at the bottom) he spoke over his shoulder.

“I have to say, it’s been weird having my own space again. I guess it shows you can get used to anything, even being handcuffed and sharing living quarters 24/7 with someone like you.”

L perked a little, full attention piqued. Light only teased him when the younger man was in an exceptionally good mood.

“I rather enjoyed it,” L said honestly as he watched his friend walk over, something else in his hands other than the cup of tea. Light set the china cup on the tabletop in front of L with a soft clink. Then, beside it and with a harsh, metallic clatter, he let his other surprise fall from his hands.

“Look what I found.” Light’s voice was a purr.

L stared at the handcuffs on the coffee table before picking up the teacup and adjusting on the couch to face Light, where the younger man had come to sit in an attitude of deep recline. Earlier, L had found it hard to meet his companion’s eyes, but now he was peering into them eagerly, as if insight into exactly what Light was planning could be found there.

There was something mutable in Light’s amber gaze, shifting the way shadows do as the night deepens. The detective caught himself thinking, for the countless time since they’d found Higuchi and the Death Note, about the intangible, frigid transformation of Light’s beauty. The symmetrical features were no different. Light was as handsome as ever. But in the months they had lived together, L had appreciated the openness in Light’s face, something bordering on innocence… a shine that had since darkened. The myriad expressions he had seen there in their time alone together—earnestness, sadness, rapture—all now frozen into a numb mask. Perhaps it was why he’d been avoiding Light these past couple days.

“Ryuuzaki?” Light grinned, prompting.

Yes, still beautiful. But in the way a well-crafted knife is beautiful. Hard, cutting, without comfort.

“Why did you keep those?” L posed his question knowing full well that Light was just as likely to find a way to dance around revealing his true motivations. Still, it was impossible not to draw conclusions from the allusions to Marquis de Sade, coupled with the serpentine, gleaming cuffs lying dormant (for now) on the table.

Certain that Light was Kira, L had no choice but to treat the quote as an intentional message dedicated only to him. What was Light truly trying to tell him, via crimson letters on a prison wall? L had expected a sort of parallel conversation, a dual undercurrent of meaning, but he hadn’t predicted the handcuffs, their bluntness out of place against the subtlety of the rest.

Light crooked his elbow, propping his head on his fist. He was smirking smugly, his little game underway and with L off-balance. “They weren’t so bad after all, were they? Seeing as how ever since we took them off, you’ve hardly been yourself.”

L sipped the tea. It was perfectly to his taste. As he let the thick sweetness settle across his tongue, he contemplated this cognitive dissonance of his; how abundantly stupid it was to be so unguarded with his affection for the man he was also convinced of being the worst serial killer in human history. He hated that Light had this advantage, and that he seemed intent on weaponizing it against L, now.

“This is true,” L ceded, pursuing a different offensive instead. “The transition has seemed to put both of us out of sorts these past few days.”

An instantaneous, prideful flicker sparked in Light’s eyes. L knew the other man hated when they were lumped together.

“So,” Light said in a calm tone, but one gilded with ice. “Context?”

L was unphased by the abrupt change in subject, especially since it meant that Light was eager and insisting on this little game he’d constructed.

“I could not help but wonder,” L obliged, “why Kira would select a quote from a man who otherwise devoted his career to celebrating and encouraging the pursuit of pleasure; deriding concepts like morality, divine judgement, God. The Marquis would have been diametrically opposed to someone like Kira.”

“Perhaps there’s meaning in the irony,” Light said, hardly bothering to hide his amusement. “Kira is appropriating the work of a detestable, selfish man like the Marquis, asserting ownership even over the words of one who would insist on sin and crime.”

“Maybe so,” L deflected. “But the Marquis was not quite so simple. He thought that unbending morality, to which one does not subscribe or understand but is still punished by, is tyranny. His stance was not as simple as moral chaos is good, or uninhibited indulgence in our worst instincts is valid, but that laws in contravention of natural desires are doomed to be broken. That the purportedly righteous God seems to have ‘created most men simply with a view for crowding hell.’”

L watched avidly as Light’s tongue emerged to wet his lips. A deliberate, slow action that felt like an attempt at restraint. L intuited that he might have just fulfilled his first move in the secret game Light had invited him to play. Things had gotten exciting.

“That’s interesting, to be sure,” Light said, the velvet timbre of his voice clear proof of his darkling delight. “But you say that as if Kira being a tyrant is an indictment sufficient unto itself. It hardly matters whether they are or are not tyrannical, and perhaps, they are even able to see themselves that way if they selected a quote from such a source. So, it’s irrelevant.”

Light leaned forward, bracing himself with his arm against the back of the couch, getting into L’s face. The detective provided no resistance as Light authoritatively took the teacup from his hands, replaced it on the coffee table, and, after a second thought, reached out to take the handcuffs.

“Do you know what else the Marquis has to say on the subject of tyrants?” Punctuating his question with a clink of the chain in his hands, Light’s eyes glinted, cerebral and challenging. He knew he could count on the photographic memory of the older man, and he exalted as L was forced to perform the next steps Light had choreographed for him.

“…‘What does one want when one is engaged in the sexual act? That everything around you give you its utter attention, think only of you, care only for you... every man wants to be a tyrant when he fornicates.’ Is this what Light wanted to hear?”

Light knew better than to expect overt embarrassment from the other, but he was still frustrated by how long it was taking for L to hint any submission. It was that unaccountable pride of L’s that provided the singular, perfect fuel for the inferno, the delicious immolation Light wanted to be consumed by one last time.

Leaning fully forward, lips beside L’s ear, Light whispered. “Let me cuff you.”

Kissing was familiar enough; they’d done it plenty of times after the forced proximity had torn down the flimsy barriers they’d erected under false pretenses of propriety. But it was the first time since Light had regained his memories, and instead of affection, what he sought from L tonight was acquiescence.

“Too sweet,” Light muttered, artfully ensuring his tone was one of disgust. He could still taste the sugar lingering on L’s tongue from the sips of tea. But the taste underneath that, of L, stirred something in Light that he pointedly ignored.

“Will you be cuffing yourself?” L’s question was interesting; defiant, disobedient and participating all at once, very much like he was checking the rules of the game they were playing together.

“No,” Light answered as he worked the old white shirt off L’s body, discarding it on the floor. “I want to try something different tonight.”

L was silent as he evaluated the implications, the surrender he would be agreeing to. The arm he held out for Light to cuff was uncompromisingly a gesture of consent.

Diligently keeping the satisfaction off his face, Light clicked a metal bracelet closed around L’s offered wrist.

More kisses as Light pressed L supine, groping for the pull-chain on the lamp and tugging it, muffling the room in an instant shroud of darkness. He didn’t like how L made no sound even when Light’s teeth found his lip, or the silence aside from the noises of his tongue as he sucked hard at the snowy flesh of L’s collarbone. The game nearly imploded when Light’s hand, traveling up L’s thigh, found no evidence that the other was enjoying this at all. Light’s own arousal, straining against his pants and near painful, made him resentful and savage.

“What’s wrong,” Light lifted his head and kept his voice carefully neutral. He knew too well that L’s rebellion would just intensify in response to any premature attempt to command or demand. Light would have to wait patiently for the right moment to take control, or it would just backfire.

There was an abyssal silence as the two men stared at each other, both immersed in private conflicts that lay just out of reach, underneath the surface, but still emanating from every kiss, every gesture, every touch.

His eyes having adjusted to the meagre light coming from the windows, L watched as the chaos of micro-expressions flit across Light’s face. In that moment, something crystallized for him.

L was mourning Light. It defied all logic, but L was leaning toward the probability that, somehow, the Light he had lived with, been handcuffed to, made love to, had not been Kira while still being Kira. Some sort of amnesia, sincere, real; not an act. Light wasn’t half so good an actor as he thought he was, as evidenced by his barely contained disappointment that L was offering himself merely in body, but tonight, not in spirit. 

Light had previously never been interested in owning L, but now the manner of the younger man was broadcasting his intention to vanquish. The special man that L had come to cherish deeply seemed all but gone, undergoing a second fall from grace that L felt immense guilt and frustration for not having figured out how to prevent.

A failure he suspected meant his own imminent death. It was almost as if he could hear the tolling of a death knell; hollow bells ringing finality. Especially ironic, today of all days.

“Nothing, Light,” L said at last, having come to a decision. “Please kiss me.”

Perhaps something in having sex with this stranger would prove useful, if not on an intellectual level, then in another way. The long chain of the handcuffs clinked as L lifted his arms behind Light’s neck, pulling the other down before Kira could further distort the illusion that Light was still the one on the couch with L.

Light seemed to hesitate before redoubling his efforts; his hands caressed as his tongue and teeth bruised. Then, his caresses hardened too, his fingers pinching and twisting L’s pink nipples, his fists pulling at L’s hair, his nails leaving red, raised tracks across L’s ribs and spine. Still, nothing was enough to provoke a sound, and L’s non-reaction infuriated Light; the older man was still stubbornly refusing the role Light had assigned him in their game.

But Light was just as angry with himself as he was with his lover. There was something irrational and uncontrollable about the way he was acting now, though he hadn’t overtly done anything especially strange. He had to concede that this first time having sex after regaining his memories was much different than he had anticipated. Before, it had merely been about being close to L; exploring, sharing, knowing unselfishly. The fact that he’d begun wondering at the true meaning of his feelings was proof that even Light was capable of great stupidity. Luckily, Kira had returned just in time, though Light still had to congratulate his amnesiac self for managing to seduce the detective. It just made this _coup de grâce_ all the richer.

Now feeling superior, calm… Light gentled, kissing and licking the livid signatures he’d left on L’s skin. Soon, he had totally remastered himself. Lips brushing L’s earlobe, Light spoke, finally setting the rules in stone.

“‘One must do violence to the object of one’s desire; when it surrenders, the pleasure is greater.’”

The quote, again from the Marquis de Sade, was not lost on the detective. L finally realized why it was that Light had gone through such trouble to lure him to his room late at night, and why L had willingly taken the bait, despite knowing nothing good would come of it.

Though it made what Light did next seem disjointed, a moment from their previous, real intimacy spliced onto whatever this was now. But as L felt himself stiffen in the wet heat of Light’s mouth, he understood. Pleasure could be violence, too.

L moaned. A short, incomplete sound, much like a sigh.

Light rose, roughly tugging L’s jeans all the way down, removing his own clothes as well, and winding the free end of the handcuffs around his hand like it was so much length of leash. A drawer in the coffee table was opened, lubricant was produced. L permitted himself to be configured in Light’s lap, the men facing each other, L holding the both of them in his hand and stroking, when he suddenly felt Light’s slippery fingers enter him.

What did it mean that Light would still bother to prepare him, when he’d just threatened violence? Was it just another kind of brutality, disguised as kindness? It mattered little, for even if it was intended as psychological warfare, L found his body responding in earnest, keening for union with Light. Even if it was the last time, even if it was like this.

Light looked lovely; the rosy heat in his cheeks, the unguarded, half-lidded gaze devoid of that cutting calculation, for the moment. But by the time L had lifted his face from a kiss, it had returned, hard and scintillating.

“Bend over the couch,” Light instructed as he pushed L off. L decided to do as he was told, going around to the back of the sofa and bending over its low frame. Light came to stand behind him and he could hear the metallic sound of the younger man manipulating the long handcuff chain.

“I’ll only stop if you tell me to,” Light said, a dare. “Give me your arms.”

The chain was already warmed from where it had lay between them, but there was still something vicious about the metal as Light wound it around L’s forearms, securing them too tightly behind his back, the intensity of L’s bend increasing without the ability to brace himself. The detective was surprised to realize that despite Kira’s dominance in their pseudo-threesome, his ardour was more intense than it had ever been. His voice echoed as Light entered him.

Their moans intermingled as Light began to thrust, no tentative second-guessing, but purposeful, piercing, compulsive penetrations. The couch rocked. Pain intermingled with ecstasy in much the same way, inducing an exquisite melting sensation in L’s lower body. Just when he was becoming grateful for the support of the couch, Light yanked hard on the handcuff chain, radiating pain through L’s shoulders and elbows, pulling L toward the windows.

Goosebumps cascaded across both men as they made contact with the cold glass, Light pressing L against the window like one would mount a specimen between microscope slides. Though they were high up, they still risked being seen. The humiliating, violating vulnerability of such exposure eroded much of L’s coherent thought, reducing everything to the nexuses of sensation—the hard, feverish heat of Light inside him, the freezing smoothness of the glass, the sublime sharpness of Light’s teeth against his throat. Just as L found himself feeling the unexpected, pooling intensity of impending climax, Light withdrew, laughing cruelly.

“Not yet, Ryuuzaki. Only when I let you.” Light must have felt the tensions and contractions of L around him, and knowing what they meant, decided to deny him. The detective felt humiliated afresh; in that moment he hated Light almost as much as he desired him. And he hated how much he enjoyed succumbing to this brainless oblivion of profane gratification.

Smirking, Light unwound the chain from where it had indented in the skin of L’s forearms, the dark chain link pattern stark against the pallor. Made pliable by the desire for completion, L did not resist—had no desire to resist—as Light forced him down onto the floor and contorted his body, folding L’s arms against his chest, folding one of L’s legs against his torso. Light bound these limbs with intricate patterns of the long handcuff chain, pulling on it so hard that it bit into L ferociously. A sort of amateurish _kinbaku_ ritual. 

Light looked down at his victor’s spoils. L returned the eye contact.

Pulling L’s restrained body onto his lap, Light lifted the older man’s free leg and gasped as he re-entered. Just when it seemed as if Light had receded totally to make way for the tyrant, L felt Light’s hand on his erection, intending to bring him to orgasm when it was impossible for the bound man to do it for himself. The touches were exactly right, exactly what made L feel good. A loving, tender action amidst the professed conquering via violence. L’s skull was throbbing, ringing with the sound of bells.

For a fragile instant, both men were cleaved open by an overwhelming sense of connection—a loss of self and immersion in another; a tether to each other that splintered in nearly the same moment it was formed.

With a cry, L surrendered, spilling hotly into the palm of Light’s hand.

Triumphant, tyrannical, Light lasted hardly a moment more before wave after wave of him surged into L.

**xx**

Just before stepping in the shower, L was overcome by Light’s lingering smell, imprinted in L’s own aching flesh like a slave’s brand. An evocative fragrance; a mix of the resinous balsam of his grooming products and the sharp, acrid cinnamon-like scent of Light’s aroused body. It brought forth a melancholic quicksand of recollection.

L reflected on the conflicted vacillation he’d seen between Light and Kira. Through the cracks in Kira’s domination, Light had seemed to try to push through, but feebly; as doomed as a ghost. In the week or two before they’d arrested Higuchi, L had even begun to suspect the true depth of Light’s feelings, the younger man confessing in every way just short of saying the actual words. It had been mutual, though complicated.

No matter now, though. Those feelings had been reduced to ash.

For although aspects of Light might linger, might persist, there was nothing now that could redeem the gulf between the two men. An abyss that the physical intimacy could never bridge, try though it might to stitch the chasm together. L hadn’t even felt safe enough to reveal the specialness of the day. His birthday. Not that such information would hold any incredible advantage for Kira, but still a jealously guarded secret that, revealed, implied a level of trust that was now impossible.

Without any optimism, L hoped this birthday would not be his last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I’d love to hear your thoughts. It was my great pleasure to contribute to this event, and the theme pushed me in a direction I might not have otherwise explored, which was very exciting as a writer. As mentioned, this story was part of the Darker Hallowe’en Oneshots Challenge, superhumanly organized by the illustrious Seth’s Kiss and NekoPantera. The theme of the event was either horror or Kinktober (or both), so while you enjoy the amazing fics, please also be sure you heed all author warnings.
> 
> This event originated on Fanfiction, so all the stories will there there, but many authors are cross-posting. There is a Collection page for this event on both platforms, you should check it out!
> 
> My fellow authors in this challenge (posting throughout October) are:  
> Alastair  
> ArgentNoelle  
> AsgardianHobbit98  
> Babyvfan  
> Bewdofchaos  
> Brenna76  
> Caldera Valhallis  
> Count Morningstar  
> CrimsonRaine87  
> DancesWithSeatbelts  
> DemonOfTheFridge  
> DemonShippingQueen  
> Desna  
> Drawingdownthemoon  
> Elleurs  
> Ferith12  
> FreyjaBee  
> HisagiKirigakure  
> HoshisamaValmor  
> Iceburg-sanCPX  
> Jadeile  
> Kakashi97  
> Kamil The Awesome  
> Karkatsbabe  
> Kittyface27  
> KurohimeHaruko  
> Max333  
> Nazaki-Sama  
> NekoPantera  
> Nissa Fox  
> PhantomGypsy13  
> Phoenixreal  
> RayeMoon  
> Rhearenee  
> Sailor Silver Ladybug  
> SensiblyTainted  
> SerenaJones585  
> SereneCalamity  
> SesshomaruFreak  
> Seth’s Kiss  
> Shnuggletea  
> Sigan  
> Silirt  
> Silverstar  
> Spunky0ne  
> Starfire93  
> Tartarun  
> The Token  
> TheBadIdeaBears  
> TsukikoUchu  
> WhatIDesireEternally  
> Wrath of Vajra  
> Xache  
> Yatsu Narurasuke  
> Yemi Hikari


End file.
